


shirt off his back

by sharkplant



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Preacher Kink Meme, stealing clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkplant/pseuds/sharkplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Fairly sure that’s mine,’ Jesse says slowly, waving his hand in the direction of the shirt. Cassidy closes his eyes and laughs to himself quietly. ‘Thieves don’t go unpunished under this roof.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	shirt off his back

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt on the [preacher kink meme](http://preacherkinkmeme.tumblr.com/): 
> 
>  
> 
> _"jesse goes to see if cassidy's stolen another shirt of his to wear, but instead catches cassidy with his shirt pressed to his face and his hand wrapped around his dick. bonus points if jesse watches for a moment before cassidy realizes he's there"_
> 
>  
> 
> i have nothing to say in my defence just take it

Today's shirt hung open from his shoulders, yesterday's now sat in the laundry hamper and Jesse’s other three hung clean in his closet. Outfit repeating came with the job.

He took the hamper down to the tiny awful claptrap of a clothes washer that sat in the church kitchen and started to sort: three (3) pairs of dirty socks, five (5) pairs of worn underwear, one (1) pair of black jeans and

No shirt.

Jesse took mental stock. He was wearing one, there were three upstairs and his last one was meant to be in here. There wasn't enough in the hamper for it to have rolled into something, Hell, it hadn't been in there for a day.

Emily never went upstairs, save for when he was passed out for three days on end, and what use would she have for a preacher’s shirt, stained with a week’s worth of Texas dust, sweat, and blood? _Blood_. _There seems to be a lot of that lately_ , he thought.

Blood. Jesse’s eyes flicked toward the attic.

Last Jesse checked, the charity bin was running a little low and it weren't for lack of donations. Cassidy on the other hand, seemed to have a new outfit almost every day, which was surprising for a man who appeared out of the blue with purportedly nothing.

He put a load of washing on, kicked the machine to get it going right, and headed toward the stairs. Jesse wondered how to broach that conversation: _Cassidy, what's the churches is yours and I say that ‘cause I can't really stop you ‘cause you'll just ignore me anyway. And what's mine is yours, ‘cause I'm just a flesh and blood extension of the place, but that being said there have gotta be boundaries. Charity bin, fine, all the second hand team Savages shirts you want. But my closet, no, my damned laundry basket, is not -_

Jesse was outside the attic door, about to knock, but the door was open a sliver and, what was presumably, Cass’ breathing was certainly strained. He pushed the door and it barely creaked.

The attic was only lit by the faint sunset curling around the make-shift curtain edges and the spotlights in the ceiling dropping orange in patches on the floor, but there was his shirt on the darker side of the room, collar tabs shining faintly - shame on Jesse for forgetting to remove them before throwing it in the wash.

But what was more interesting was that his shirt was gripped in Cassidy’s left hand up to his face, while his right was fitted around his cock, his jeans pulled down around his thighs.

Jesse took a deep breath and leant against the frame, just taking it in for a second. What was maybe more heady was Cass hadn’t even noticed Jesse was there, too wrapped up in his own senses. Jesse cleared his throat and tried to bite the smile from his lips.

Cassidy’s eyes flick to the sound and Jesse can’t tell in the half light if he’s panicked by his standing in the doorway or turned on.

‘Fairly sure that’s mine,’ Jesse says slowly, waving his hand in the direction of the shirt. Cassidy closes his eyes and laughs to himself quietly. ‘Thieves don’t go unpunished under this roof.’

Challenge shone off Cass’ teeth. ‘And how will you punish me, Padre? Not sure you could t'ink of anything I wouldn’t like.’ He gives himself a slow stroke for show.

Jesse clicked his tongue. ‘True.’ He pushed off the jamb, creaking footfalls echoing off the ceiling.  Cassidy watched the approach. Jesse didn’t miss his toffee slow eyes draw up and down what his shirt wasn’t covering but his eyes always came back to his face, as if conflicted where to focus his attention.

Kneeling before him, Jesse reached out and pried his dirty shirt from Cass’ fingers, dropping it beside him out of reach. What use would he need of a shirt when he could have the genuine article, so to speak. ‘I could try making you embarrassed?’ He leaned in. Cassidy opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, only a soft keening sound as Jesse wrapped a hand around Cass’ dick, pinky to thumb above his own hand, and squeezed. ‘Tell me, Cassidy: what do I smell like?’

Cass’ eyes flitted shut, biting his bottom lip but his mouth still turned up the corners. ‘God, I-’

‘God, huh?’ Jesse smirked. ‘That's quite something.’

Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘You didn't let me finish you bastar- _uh_... _’_ The syllable moaned as Jesse rubbed his thumb against the slick gathered on the crown. He finally started to move his hand.

‘That's no way to talk in a House of God. My my, what a list of sins you've racked up today, Cassidy. Covertin’. Stealin’. Jerkin’ off in a church _and_ swearing at the preacher.’

Cass laughed, a little too breathy than he would have preferred but still. ‘And how many ‘Hail Mary’s will that be, Padre?’

‘You'd lose your voice.’

‘This not husky enough for ya? You want it to be pullin' a dog sled?’

Jesse slackened his grip in threat. ‘Is now really the time to be making puns, Cass?’

‘All the time is pun tim- _fuck._ ’ His hips jerked and his mind blurred and focused. Jesse had bent himself over, tongue running flat and hot over the head of Cassidy’s cock. Jesse sat back on his heels and smoothed down his own spit, easing the rest of the way.

‘Didn’t answer my question.’

‘Forgive me, I’m a little preoccupied,’ Cass strained.

‘What do I smell like?’

Cassidy chokes on the upstroke, his fingers digging into the preacher’s wrist. ‘Sweat mostly. Soap. Smoke. Whiskey. I don't know, like the sun sorta. Just- good okay? Can your damn hand not go any faster?’ Jesse slowed down. ‘Oh come on,’ Cassidy whined. ‘T'at's just cruel.’ He uncurled his free hand away from his jeans to to thread into Jesse’s hair and pull him into a kiss.

It was a breathless, pleading, begging, just this side of pathetic kiss, Cass’ hips twitching. Jesse for a second wanted to _Command_ him to come just to see the surprise in his eyes and find out if he tasted any different for it.

Cassidy came unbidden on a kiss-muffled moan, although it felt like it had been dragged out of him. He sagged against the wall a little. Jesse wiped Cass’ own against the man’s shirt. Cass frowned. ‘Hey. Now I've got to do laundry.’

Jesse nudged yesterday's shirt. ‘That makes two of us.’ He shifted in a no-hands attempt to make his pants a little less tight. No cigar. Cass noticed.

‘Wanna make some more?’ Cassidy waved a hand toward the tent in Jesse’s jeans.

‘What did you have in mind?’

Cassidy grinned his awful lopsided grin. Jesse felt his sins just looking at it. ‘You said a little somethin' about me losing my voice?’

**Author's Note:**

> there are other dirties coming (( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)) when i stop being ashamed of myself and what my awful sinner hands have created


End file.
